Page 26 of Prince of Demons (Demon’s Mark #2)

Georgia

F rowning, the demon prince looked down at himself. “That’s my dick.”

“That is not a… a penis!” Georgia sputtered, withdrawing several steps as she stared at the monstrosity between his powerful thighs.

From the smooth, blackish-red scales covering his body, a dark, tubular mass of flesh hung from where his man-parts should have been. But that? There was absolutely no way something that thick and… ridged was supposed to be used to make love. Even for a huge demon, that was going too far!

“Don’t tell me you’re a damn virgin,” the asshole demon said, having the audacity to sound exasperated. “Yes, it’s a dick. Would you like to get better acquainted, or can I get in the fucking tub?”

Georgia took another swift step backward, unable to look away from the ridiculous thing. It twitched at her attention. “No! No, get in the tub!” Jerking her attention away, she swiveled on her heel and darted for the bathroom.

Relief flooded through her when, only a moment later, the sound of water sloshing indicated that the prince had climbed into the bath. Thank God.

She rested a hand on the vanity, trying to collect herself.

She’d been thankful for his insistence that she wouldn’t survive sex with him before, even if she hadn’t fully understood why.

Now, however, she was infinitely more grateful he didn’t have plans to put that medieval torture device inside her.

But… did all demons have members like that? With her newfound knowledge of their reproductive organs, repeatedly being called a ‘Breeder’ painted an even grimmer picture of what was already an uncomfortable moniker.

Surely, they couldn’t all be like that? It would injure a human woman to take that, possibly even kill her. Lesser demons had to be more… reasonable. Probably not pleasant, but… manageable. Yes. That had to be the case.

An echo of the tormented cries of the poor women forced to serve in the demon whorehouse made her shudder and force her focus to gathering the bath supplies. At least she’d been spared that fate. There would only be one monster using her, not a legion.

The prince was in the tub when she returned to the bedroom, resting against the back of it.

His long horns curved up behind him, obsidian black and strong.

They were oddly beautiful in their animalistic quality and almost managed to make the sharper, scaled protrusions along his shoulders look natural—as if every jagged edge and rough texture on his body was perfectly blended to compliment his hulking frame.

Gathering her courage, she stepped up to the tub and pulled the nearby wooden stool to its side so she could sit.

He’d given her the choice to back out of the bargain.

She’d insisted because, so long as he held her fate in his hands, she needed a way to be able to sway him.

Which meant keeping him open to the possibility of future bargains.

Which, in turn, meant making sure she gave him something he couldn’t easily get somewhere else.

Georgia dipped the sponge into the warm water by the demon’s side, then brought it to his wide shoulders, squeezing it out over the scales to wet his skin. When she dipped it again, she rubbed soap into the sponge, then began gently lathering his shoulder with soothing circles.

A low, involuntary groan rumbled out of the beast’s chest.

She dipped the sponge in the water again before returning to his shoulder, this time washing off the soap. He exhaled, low and deep. Strong muscles softened ever so slightly under her touch.

Georgia glanced up at his face, half expecting his usual glare, but he had his unsettling black eyes were closed, long eyelashes fanning his cheeks.

She bit her lip to keep the small smirk there in check and kept her attention on bathing him.

Turned out, not even big, grumpy demon lords could resist the magic of a sponge bath.

From the way small tremors crossed his stark features now and then, he hadn’t expected her plan to bring him comfort to be quite this effective.

It was oddly… Endearing wasn’t the right word. Demons weren't incapable of being endearing. But there was something surprisingly… almost sweet about seeing a hulking, battle-hardened monster-like the prince relax under her touch.

Carefully, she washed the dried blood and dirt off his face, then turned to his long, matted hair.

The long, low rumble that escaped him when she dug her fingertips into his scalp had her unable to hold back a giggle.

Kesh cracked an eyelid, lips flattening disapprovingly. “What do you find so funny, Breeder?”

“Nothing,” she said, hastily reining the amusement back in, but the damage had been done.

His eyebrows pulled down in a frown, and she sensed his shoulders tensing.

That wouldn’t do. Not if she wanted him to realize just how beneficial bargaining with her could be for him, too.

Georgia speared her fingertips through his hair again and gently scraped her nails along his scalp as she massaged the shampoo deeper.

“Mmm… damn it all.” This time, it was a full moan. “What kind of fucking witchcraft is this?”

“It’s okay to enjoy touch,” she said softly, making sure to keep her fingers rubbing the same, enticing patterns through his strands. “To relax. I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to. The battle is over. You won. Let go of all that responsibility for a little while and let me take care of you.”

Kesh grumbled something under his breath, but his shoulders relaxed, and he sank deeper into the tub, eyes closing again.

“That’s it,” she murmured, keeping up the scalp massage until the prince had melted fully into the bath, his head leaning back against the rim, eyes closed. Throat bared. Vulnerable.

Well, as vulnerable as a huge, battle-hardened monster got. She was pretty sure she’d need to be hiding a very sharp machete up her sleeve to be able to do any damage to the prince, even in this state. But the sentiment was there.

“You don’t allow anyone to see you like this very often, do you?” she asked, still keeping her voice low and soothing to avoid riling him up again.

“Of course not. At the best of times, demons tend to slice the throats of anyone standing in their way to power, if given the chance. I’m a prince, and we’re at war.” Despite his terse words, his tone was almost drugged from relaxation.

“I bet your cortisol levels are sky high,” she said, frowning when she realized she didn’t know if demonic biology had human stress hormones. “Or… is that a good thing for you? Since some of you feed on misery…?”

Kesh scoffed, but didn’t deign to give her an answer.

Choosing to refocus on keeping him relaxed, she pushed her curiosity aside and scooped up a pail of water to pour over the prince’s head, making sure not to get any in his eyes.

He released a soft exhale, and another when she ran her fingers through his strands to help rinse out the shampoo.

It took five pails to get his hair clean—it was thick and long, and felt lush to the touch, if a little rough with enough split ends to suggest he didn’t take any care of it.

There hadn’t been any conditioner among the supplies in the bathroom, but a woman could improvise.

She popped the cork on the body oil and began massaging it into his lengths. The parched hair sucked it up in seconds.

“I thought royals were supposed to be pampered,” she mused.

Kesh snorted. “I’m sure the Europeans have plenty of little human servants enthralled for this purpose. We’ve been a bit too busy trying to survive to really establish the appropriate life of luxury just yet.”

“You don’t seem… keen. On the whole prince-thing,” she said as she moved the stool so she could resume washing his body.

There were sprays of blood all over his chest, and she had to scrub a little harder with the sponge to get it off.

He didn’t complain at the treatment, but his black eyes opened to watch her while she worked.

“It’s a responsibility I didn’t ask for.”

“But also power, I imagine? You said demons will slice the throats of anyone in their way to get to power.”

He tilted his head, his gaze turning sharper.

“They will. And I cut the heads off many a man to get my brother on the throne. Power is… a double-edged sword. A necessary evil, if you will. Even you, little mouse… You strive for power over me, with your bargains and your gentle touches. Hoping to influence me to give you agency. You don’t have the strength to physically subjugate me, so you use other means.

Your touch. Your scent. Even the timbre of your voice.

“We all need power, and we all have to face the consequences once we get it. For me, it’s the responsibility of the lives lost to this war. For you… Well, let’s hope you don’t succeed in your quest for power, little Breeder. For both our sakes.”

There was no mistaking the smolder in his black eyes.

Georgia grimaced and quickly lowered her gaze to his chest, refocusing on scrubbing the blood off his scaled skin. The blood and dirt were thick in the water, and she reached down to pull out the plug, making sure not to look further down as the tub emptied.

Power. If he thought servicing a male strong enough to crush her with a flex of his hands, while hoping he wouldn’t lose control and brutally rape her to death was power, then he really didn’t understand what it was like to be small and helpless.

Not that he would. No. Someone as strong and physically dominant as the demon prince would never know what it was like to be truly powerless.

She refilled the tub, then dipped the sponge to his abs. They tensed under her touch.

“Does it not feel good here?” she asked, darting a look up at his face.

The intensified smolder in his eyes when she caught his gaze was all the answer he gave her, but it was plenty.